


eloquent remarks

by lyriclove



Series: #Debate4Ham [1]
Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton- Miranda
Genre: M/M, More will be added as this continues!, debate is the gayest hobby in existence, parliamentary debate and chill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 09:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5703091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyriclove/pseuds/lyriclove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watching Alexander Hamilton debate is like watching a feral cat pounce on its prey.</p><p>Modern HS AU. Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr are middle school teammates-turned-bitter rivals. A story of strange emotions, secret pining, and affirmative resolutions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: this fic is heavy in debate jargon. Here's a glossary if you so desire: https://goo.gl/HLdLQ2

Watching Alexander Hamilton debate is like watching a feral cat pounce on its prey.

He gives an extensive definition of terms and statement of burdens in his first speech, delving into technicalities about constitutional law and citing foreign scholars. He destroys every last one of the proposition's points in his second speech, pointing out logical fallacies and questioning the validity of data. He makes underhandedly snide remarks that imply the opposition's stupidity masterfully. His Points of Information lead his opponents into logical death traps. With his third speech he gives an excoriating review of the other side's arguments and weighs the debate with a vigor that one would need to witness to comprehend.

And God, his hands.

His hands are inkstained from flowing furiously, his fingers long, dainty, and delicate. He maneuvers passionately, gesticulating with ardor and zeal matching that of the words that fall out of his pale pink lips. His freckled face flushes as he makes his contentions. His azure eyes are scrunched up and intense. It is an objectively beautiful sight.

(You feel something tight in your chest but you can't put your finger on what it is.)

His gestures are captivating, his refutations irresistible. It's impossible to turn away from him, not when his assertions are so powerful and definitely not when his eyes are blazing the way they do. You struggle to keep your eyes on your flow sheet.

The timekeeper slaps the table. Shit, your speech is in one minute. You struggle to get your thoughts together. Dragging your eyes away from the man speaking, you try to distract yourself and pay attention to anything but Hamilton. You've never actively tried to ignore your opponent before.

The timekeeper makes the letter C with her hands. 30 seconds. Crunch time, you suppose. Hamilton makes his last few remarks as you scribble down a few notes.  
The timekeeper holds up both hands and counts down. Hamilton is talking as fast as possible to get everything in before his time is up.

5… 4… 3… 2… 1. The timekeeper slaps the table and you and the judge knock your desks, politely heckling Hamilton off the floor.

“We thank the third opposition speaker for his eloquent remarks. We now invite the third proposition speaker to give a speech not exceeding four minutes in length. Begin whenever you’re ready.”

You walk up to the makeshift podium (a wheelie chair with a stack of math textbooks on top of it) and lay down your flow and prep paper. Looking down at your flow, you gulp, realizing that you barely wrote anything down. Shit.

You take a deep breath. “Hello, my name is Aaron Burr and I am the third proposition speaker for the resolution, ‘This House would ban animal testing.’ I will first refute my opponent’s points, then spend the bulk of my time crystallizing and weighing.”

You look over at Hamilton. He is scribbling wildly on his flow sheet, his curly auburn hair falling in front of his face. There is literally no reason for him to be flowing your speech, since it's the last speech of the round. You wonder why he never takes it easy.  
The intensity in his bespectacled eyes is captivating. You pay no attention to the words coming out of your mouth; your mind is entirely focused on Hamilton. Why does he write with such vigor? Hamilton is the only person in the world who could come out of a debate round sweating and heaving.

The timekeeper makes the 30 second signal. Still entirely focused on Hamilton, you feel some words fall out of your mouth, a pre-prepared dialogue.  
“And for the reasons that I have brought up, there is no way the opposition can win; we have refuted all of their points and fulfilled our burden of proving that banning animal testing should be banned. We have also shown that the proposition outweighs the opposition in terms of scope and magnitude, as well as morality under the framework of consequentialism. For these reasons, we strongly urge a proposition ballot.” This is a speech you have spoken a thousand times before, a thoroughly rehearsed song. Your mind is still completely on Hamilton as he and the judge heckle you off the floor.  
(He's looking at you and smiling and you are just about to lose it.)  
The judge asks you and Hamilton to step out of the room while he reviews his flow and fills out his ballot.

******

You have been standing outside of the room for what feels like an eternity but is, in reality, only 2 minutes. Hamilton keeps trying to make eye contact with you from across the room. You are actively looking away from him.

Feeling he's been ignored for too long, Hamilton finally walks up to you. "Burr!" He says, a wide smile on his face. You look up at him, making a strange noise that is half grunt, half greeting.

"You did a really great job in that round. I wouldn't be surprised if you won this one!" Hamilton positively beams, violet eyes shining in the fluorescent light.

You maintain your composed aura. "Please, Hamilton, don't flatter me."

"I'm not though," he says earnestly, wiping his glasses with the corner of his hoodie. "You were incredible in there-- succinct, persuasive. I could learn a thing or two from you." He puts his glasses back on and fiddles with the ends of his ponytail.

You snort. "I suppose conciseness isn't exactly your forte," you say, raising one eyebrow.

Hamilton shakes his head. "Never was."

You nod, remembering back in your middle school days, when you and Hamilton used to go to the same school.

******

_He was an exchange student from somewhere in the Caribbean. You were one year his senior-- you a 7th grader, he a 6th grader (though in terms of eloquence he was really more like a 10th grader.)_

_You were simply eating lunch in the cafeteria when Hamilton came up to you and tapped you on the shoulder. “‘Scuse me... Are you Aaron Burr?” He said, bright blue-violet eyes shining behind scratched-up glasses._

_You looked him right back in those eyes. “That depends, who's asking?” You replied, in a tone of voice that would make any other 6th grader shit their pants._

_But Hamilton was his own breed. “Oh, right. Sorry. I'm Alexander Hamilton, at your service!” He saluted you jokingly. Then he slouched a bit, tucking some unruly auburn hair behind his ear sheepishly. “I’ve been looking for you.”_

_You chuckled. “I’m getting nervous.”_

_He laughed back, forced and anxious. “You’re on the debate team, right?” You nod._

_“Great! So, um, I've been trying to join it...”_

_You raise your eyebrows. “You know that's only open to 7th and 8th graders.”_

_He nods. “Yes, and I think that is an absolute travesty. Why should the age of a student somehow influence their eligibility for acceptance to a school activity or club?”_

_“Well, that policy exists so that we don't end up training 6th grade debaters only to have them go over to Hunter.” You shrug, as if to say there was nothing you could do._

_“You mean Hunter College High School?” Hamilton snorts derisively. “Who would want to go there?”_

_“A pretty big majority of our student body, actually. For some reason, our school is a feeder for Hunter despite being its sworn enemy.”_

_Hamilton looked puzzled. “That's odd.” He shook his head. “Well, do you think you could make an exception for me?”_

_“I can talk to the coach,” you said resignedly. You knew he wouldn't give up until you said yes, anyway._

_He flinged his arms around you and squeezed you tightly. “Thank you so much!” He grinned at you and ran off to wherever he came from, leaving you alone with your head spinning._

******

The door swings open and the judge sticks out his head.

“You guys can come in now,” he says. Hamilton smiles at you and mouths “good luck.” You nod weakly and follow him into the other room.


	2. Chapter 2

You and Burr go into the room and sit down at the two desks. The judge sits up in his chair and clicks the pen-- once, twice.

“That was a really great round, guys!” The judge says cheerily. “I'm going to disclose, but before I do that, I'm going to give commentary.” Groaning internally, you just hope that the commentary doesn't last too long.

“I'll start with proposition. You're very concise and you roadmap and signpost very well. Your speeches were extremely easy to flow, which is great for me as a judge, and you managed your time very well and fulfilled your burdens really nicely.” Burr’s chest puffs up a little at this.

“But,” the judge continues, “there is one thing I would want to see from you, and that is more energy and passion. I saw a lot of that coming from the opposition, but I don't think I saw enough of that bite coming from you. If you can get that down, you're pretty much golden.” Burr deflates a bit, though it's such an unnoticeable little action that you're probably one of very few people in the world who would see it.

Now, Opposition,” the judge starts. “Like I said, you had a lot of passion and fire and I love seeing that, but you need to be a little more organized. You roadmapped, but you didn't signpost very clearly, so it was pretty hard for me to flow your speeches. But your speaking style is really amazing, and you really captivated me as a person, not just as a judge.” 

“Thank you,” you say, nodding your head crisply.

“And so,” the judge said, folding his ballot in half, “I gave the round to Opposition. Proposition definitely made a lot of good points, but Opposition weighed them very well and definitely convinced me to vote for him. Good match, guys!” He smiles.

You smile back. “Thank you for judging!” You say perkily.

Burr mumbles out a “thank you” and smiles a little. He walks up to the judge’s desk and haphazardly sticks out his hand. “Thank you for judging,” he says, making awkward eye contact with the judge as he shook his hand. You also go and shake the judge’s hand, grab your materials off your desk, and make your way out the door.

 

******

The moment you open the cafeteria doors, you are greeted with the chaotic din of 30 New York City debate teams. You make your way to your team’s table-- King’s School for the Academically Gifted-- and you sit down.

“Yo, Hammy!” A voice says from behind you. You turn around to see a freckled face and curly hair belonging to one John Laurens. 

Laurens is your best friend. He agrees with you on pretty much everything and you two often team up on resolutions concerning socioeconomics as well as the impacts of racial paradigms on human society. 

“You stole my seat, man!” He says, grinning.

“Sorry, Laurens. D’ya wanna…” You stand up and offer him the seat.

“What? Nah, man, it's fine.” John lays his sweater down on the floor and sits on it, criss-cross applesauce. “So. Who were you up against?” He asks.

“It was Maiden School,” you say.

“Oh shit, no!” Don't tell me it was that Burr asshole again.”

“Hey, he's not so bad,” you protest. Laurens grumbles in dissent. “Anyway, how did y’all do?”

“We were against this tepid-ass team from Hunter,” says a thick French accent from a few seats away. This is unmistakably Gilbert Lafayette, who had just moved to the city from Paris. Their parents are rich and they dress like it, rocking designer jeans and copious amounts of makeup. They are one of the strongest assets on the debate team, knowing a lot about foreign affairs and military. 

“Knocked them down flat!” A gruff, deeper voice adds. This is the voice of Hercules Mulligan, who predicts the other teams’ plans and cases with uncanny accuracy. He’s something of a trick up the King team’s sleeve, often nicknamed “the spy” due to this skill.

“That's great,” you say, smiling. “Good job, guys. Is anyone tallying the wins and losses?”

“Uh… I think Jay is,” Laurens says, cocking his head over to the tall boy sitting at the edge of the table. He was furiously scribbling in a composition notebook.

“Thanks, Laurens!” You flash him a smile and turn away, walking toward Jay.

John Jay was one of your closest friends. He was on your first debate team in middle school. You still worked on resolutions together, and even sometimes debated as a team. He was just as knowledgeable about law as you were and had an extremely strong sense of justice. You and Jay liked to work together especially on resolutions concerning constitutional law. You did this so often that your teammates had jokingly taken to calling you the Federalists.

“Hey, Jay,” you say, “heard you were tallying scores!” John looks up slowly, brown eyes meeting yours. 

“Yeah,” he says, “I am. Did you win?” 

“Mmm hmm.” You nod. “Against Maiden.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Burr?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Jay blushes slightly. “No reason,” he says, shaking his head.

You look at him quizzically for a bit, but you shake it off. “Anyway, how did you do?” 

“I got a bye,” Jay said, unaffected.

“Ah, all right. Well, how’s the team doing so far?”

“Of 30 pairings, we have 13 with winning records, not counting the 7 novice pairings. It's shaping up to be a good day.” Jay smiles.

“Cool! All right, I’m gonna go get pizza.” You walk away, toward the coveted slices.

But before you can even get to the table, a tall boy with a purple-ish blazer and huge hair stops you, a diminutive, sad-looking boy in a black blazer trailing a few steps behind.

“Hey, Hamilton,” the tall one says, a big toothy grin on his face. This was the star child of The Maiden School debate team, Thomas Jefferson. Behind him was James Madison, Thomas Jefferson’s teammate and your former friend. 

“Thomas. Madison.” You try to walk around them but Jefferson nimbly steps in front of you. Curse him and his long, spindly legs.

“Excuse me,” you say, sneering up at Jefferson’s face. “I'm afraid I don't have time to talk to idiots today. I've been very busy lately.”

“I don't have time to talk to petulant five-year-olds, and yet here I am, talking to you! Funny how these things work.” Jefferson crosses his arms and widens his sleazy smile. 

You roll your eyes. “What do you want, Jefferson?”

Jefferson tosses his head and does that very weird cackle that he does, Madison awkwardly chuckling behind him.

“You know our boy Burr? Well, he’s been making googly-eyes at you from across the room at you and it sure as hell ain’t helping his debate skills,” Thomas says, slightly quieter than before. You're glad he had the decency to lower his voice rather than project the information to every debater in the city.

“And? What do you want me to do about that?” You ask, arms crossed and eyebrows raised (though you are well aware of the answer).

“Isn’t it obvious, Alexander?” Madison says, shaking his head lightly. You keep up your ruse of ignorance and shrug.

“What it means, Hamilton,” Jefferson says condescendingly, “is that you need to go over there and either whore it up or leave him alone. And knowing you,” (here he smirks), “I know exactly which you'll choose.” Jefferson walks away confidently, Madison scampering behind him and trailing his heels.

You are left astonished, both by this new information and this outrageous ultimatum that Jefferson has bestowed unto you. Clearly, Jefferson and Madison are not doing this for the well-being of Burr (who they clearly did not give two shits about), but rather for their own amusement. You don't want to give them the satisfaction.

But at the same time, you are curious: does Burr like you? You never thought he had seen you more as anything than an acquaintance or perhaps a worthy adversary. Maybe an annoyance. Still, your thoughts turn to Burr’s behavior after your last round-- was that the behavior of a man who had just lost a debate? Or was it a lovesick boy who tripped on words and mumbled his way through a world of desire? 

More than that, you contemplate a world in which you could even be Burr’s boyfriend. It is near impossible to imagine Burr as anything more than a friend and thorn in your side. What would Burr even be like as a boyfriend? Would he be tender, kind, and domestic, or would he be coarse, raw, and passionate? Left only with these irregular, burning questions, you grab a pepperoni pizza out of a box and walk back to your table.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The criticism given to Hamilton was almost verbatim the criticism I was given last tournament. But I'm the one writing this so I can project onto him just as much as I please. (^_^ )  
> A bit of nice, personal news-- I'm going to the New York City championships as a congressional debater! (I qualified for parliamentary as well, but I decided that I wanted to do parliamentary at the state championships!) This might translate into infrequent updates for a while, unfortunately. Follow me on tumblr (irlhamilton.tumblr.com) and I'll probably keep you posted!

**Author's Note:**

> This would be my VERY FIRST FIC ON THE ARCHIVE! 
> 
> I wrote this fic for entertainment purposes (obviously) but also because I wanted to spread the word about debate. Honestly, debate is a hobby that completely changed my life and I hope that, even just by reading this fic, you might begin to understand a bit of that experience!
> 
> @LMM: if you're reading this I'm sorry for dissing HCHS but a) it's funny because you went there, b) I go to Hunter's rival school, and c) I didn't make it in and I'm salty.
> 
> (Disclaimer: I have never had a debate crush and I honestly don't think I ever will.)


End file.
